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you remember what happened?” I asked.
    Holmes paused in his examination of the jewel case and glanced in our direction.
    She frowned. “As we entered the room, my attention was upon the glass case. I stepped to the table…” She hesitated for only a moment, a faint glow touching her cheeks. “I did not notice anything amiss before the lights were extinguished. And then…” Her brows drew together. “I…I do not remember anything more.”
    A soft cough announced Carolus’s return.
    “I have prepared a room for Her Grace,” he said. “And sent a messenger for the policja .”
    “If you cannot stand,” I said, “the footmen can carry you—”
    She lifted her chin. “Hilary will assist me.”
    “Certainly, Grandmama.” The viscount leaned over, his arm encircling her shoulders.
    I lent my strength on her other side. At one point she bowed her head as if overcome. Holmes uttered a brief exclamation and swooped in, but his concern was unnecessary. She gained her feet without experiencing any further weakness.
    Despite Holmes’s obvious impatience, I insisted she pause a moment before proceeding. Once assured that she would not succumb, I allowed her, supported by her grandson, to leave the room.
    From outside, I heard Denbeigh cry “Mother!” before Holmes drew me toward the broken window. Cold air poured into the room. I took a deep breath.
    “Quickly, Watson! The police will arrive any moment. I am certain you observed several deep scorings raked across the count’s face, as if from fingernails. Is it possible that she inflicted such wounds?”
    The question did not surprise me. Naturally, Holmes would have noticed my reaction to the evidence on her fingers and wish to ascertain the cause. That did not mean I welcomed his enquiry, however.
    I sighed. “Yes.”
    “As I suspected.” Holmes sounded extremely satisfied.
    “Her actions must have been defensive!” Any other option was simply unthinkable. “Surely the count attacked her…”
    “Do you truly believe a lady of her years was capable of repelling his determined attack?” His voice was hard as flint. “And what of the emeralds?”
    I looked from the empty jewel case to the broken window.
    “No. No, it cannot be, Holmes. She cannot be responsible.”
    “You are thinking with your heart and not your mind, Watson! Does not the evidence point to Her Grace surprising the count with a blow of sufficient force to stagger him?”
    “With what?” I gestured to the room. “There is nothing she could use as a weapon.”
    Holmes pointed to a brass poker lying in a shadowed corner. I had not noticed it before.
    “There is blood upon the end,” he said.
    How could this be? In her right mind, the dowager duchess would never be capable of such actions. Was Denbeigh correct to be concerned that his mother suffered from kleptomania? If so, could her disease have progressed to a violent manifestation with such rapidity?
    Holmes continued. “After she removed the jewels from their case, the count must have recovered enough to lunge at her. She fended off his attack, in the course of which he fell and struck his head. Either she was already in the process of ridding herself of the jewels before this occurred and lost consciousness immediately, or she was able to break the window and toss the jewels outside before succumbing to her injury.”
    “If what you say is true, Holmes, and I must admit that I fervently hope you are wrong, it must be a direct result of this insidious disease. She is most certainly not at fault, and it might be possible to salvage her reputation.” I turned toward the door. “Let us retrieve the emeralds before the police arrive.”
    “Too late, I fear,” replied Holmes as voices rose in the receiving room. “However, we do have one further clue as to what occurred.” He thrust his hand into his coat pocket and withdrew it far enough for me to catch a glimpse of glittering emerald and fiery diamond against his palm.
    I